The once-dismissive halls of the Ashriyat Al-Kharab Nafath estate were steeped in an unusual silence. Ash, now fully aware of the shift in his reality, found himself seated in a grand chamber, a place he barely remembered visiting during his old life. The chamber was an imposing space—its walls carved with depictions of chaos battling creation, intricate mosaics telling stories of a time when gods themselves knelt before the might of his ancestors.
At the center of the room, a massive obsidian throne loomed, untouched, reserved for the heir of the family. Ash eyed it with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. It was a symbol of power and authority, something his old self would never have dared to approach. Now, he felt a strange pull toward it, as if the throne was calling to him.
The system's voice echoed in his mind once again.
"Mission update: Establish dominance within your bloodline. Activate the trial of succession. Reward: Unrestricted access to the Vault of Origins."
Ash smirked. The system seemed to have an innate talent for throwing him into challenges he wasn't prepared for—or so it thought. Leaning against one of the towering pillars, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, trying to piece together his next move.
"Dominance, huh? I guess even in a world like this, nothing's handed to you." He muttered, his voice tinged with amusement.
Before he could act, the chamber doors creaked open. In strode one of the elders of the family, Hathorion, a stern man who was both Ash's uncle and one of the family's most formidable warriors. His presence alone could silence an entire hall, and his piercing gaze felt like it could strip away any pretense.
"Ash," Hathorion began, his tone sharp and unyielding. "What are you doing here? This is no place for a layabout."
Ash turned, his smirk widening into something more dangerous. "And here I thought the family would be thrilled to see me in a place like this. Guess I was wrong."
Hathorion's eyes narrowed. "Enough of your games. Your father's patience has its limits. You've embarrassed this family for years. Don't think you can suddenly play the role of heir without proving yourself."
Ash pushed himself off the pillar, walking slowly toward Hathorion. Every step he took seemed to fill the air with tension. The old Ash would have shrunk under Hathorion's gaze, perhaps even stammered out an apology. But this new Ash—reborn, empowered, and filled with purpose—wasn't the same weak-willed boy.
"You're right," Ash said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet menace. "I do need to prove myself. And what better way to start than by taking down one of the family's strongest warriors?"
Hathorion raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by Ash's sudden confidence. "You dare to challenge me?"
Ash shrugged. "Dare? No. I'm just tired of pretending to be someone I'm not."
Before Hathorion could respond, Ash's aura erupted like a storm. The oppressive weight of his power filled the chamber, forcing even Hathorion to take a step back. It wasn't just raw strength—it was controlled, calculated, and brimming with a chaotic energy that felt untouchable.
The elder's expression shifted from disdain to wariness. "What… is this?" he muttered, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his blade.
Ash chuckled, his eyes glowing faintly with a golden-red light. "You're about to find out."
Without warning, Ash lunged forward, his speed almost inhuman. Hathorion barely had time to draw his weapon before Ash's fist collided with the blade, shattering it into fragments. The force of the blow sent Hathorion hurtling across the chamber, crashing into one of the ornate walls.
Ash didn't let up. He closed the distance in an instant, grabbing Hathorion by the collar and lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing.
"Still think I'm not fit to be here?" Ash asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
Hathorion struggled, his pride refusing to let him yield. But the reality of the situation was undeniable. Ash's power was far beyond anything the elder had anticipated.
"You've changed," Hathorion finally managed to say, his voice strained.
Ash released him, letting him crumple to the ground. "You're right. I have. And it's time the rest of the family sees it too."
Turning away, Ash walked toward the obsidian throne, his steps purposeful. He didn't hesitate as he sat down, the dark energy of the seat swirling around him, resonating with his own chaotic aura.
The moment he settled into the throne, a pulse of power surged through the chamber, reverberating through the entire estate. It was a declaration, a signal to everyone in the family. The heir had taken his place.
Far away, in the heart of the estate, Apophis and Syria felt the shift. The god and goddess exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable.
"It seems our son has finally embraced his destiny," Syria said, a hint of pride in her voice.
Apophis smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with an almost predatory satisfaction. "Let the trials begin."